This week, I had an extreme case of the Mondays. And for a good reason. After much consideration, we decided to sell my childhood home in New Orleans, Apricot St.. Monday was the closing. While the process was relatively quick (a few months), the finality of it in the form of the closing sent me into a spiral. Unable to contain my emotion, I withdrew from most during the day, only responding on a “need” basis and asking for time to grieve. And grieve I did, allowing the tears to flow and leaning into the pain of it all. I was letting something of infinite value go and it wasn't easy. We bought the home from my parents immediately after Hurricane Katrina and rehabbed the home from the studs.
If I’m being honest, I’ve had to let go of a number of possessions that I’ve held dear. Each one more precious than the last; the culmination being Apricot St.. My parents secured the land and built Apricot St. in the 1970’s. They’d go on to raise two children within those walls. With endless celebrations of birthdays, report cards, and simple Sunday meals, Apricot St. was the beloved hub of the family. We had the same neighbors for over thirty years, signified in the absences of backyard fences. As children, we run though our collective backyards, growing as one. Growing up on Apricot St. was the setting of a charmed childhood.
Harmony St.
In addition to Apricot St., I was fortunate enough to call Harmony Street my second home. They opened their doors to me in the fall of 1979. A tiny 2.5 year old ballerina would spread her wings and hone her talent for the next sixteen years under the watchful and loving eyes of Diane Carney and Harvey Hysell. Their tutelage expanded well beyond the plies and fouettes. They would later go on to watch me graduate and take my husband’s hand in marriage. Harmony St., another beloved hub, was where I’d grow as a dancer, forge some of the most important friendships of my life and cultivate a myriad of experiences that have informed me as a woman today. I’d leave the embrace of Harmony St. in the summer of 1995, in exchange for the foothills of Washington, DC, Howard University. In my mind’s eye, I’d always return “home,” at some point. In my wildest dreams, I’d recover and purchase the hub that for certain years I’d spend more time than my actual home, Apricot St. It is said that a famous entertainment couple have since purchased the pink mansion. While owning Harmony St. is not completely out of my future, it is indefinitely a dream deferred.
Bessie
In 1999, I was a senior in college, looking forward to graduating and entering the workforce. Ourisman Honda of Bethesda flashed a commercial advertising a new car for $12,999.00. What I didn't understand is that there is “one” car for this price. The advertising is a ploy to get traffic to the dealership. I fell for it. Hook, line and sinker. It was there that I purchased Bessie, a shiny new Accord. Bessie did not have all the bells and whistles. $12,999 got me a new car, cloth seats, pull up locks, and roll down windows. Bessie was perfect. During our seventeen year run Bessie would transport me to my college graduation, first job, and wedding. I’d become a homeowner and a mother, bringing home both of my babies via my chariot. It was just last year that Bessie would escort me for the last time. Without previous incident, she would give out in the parking lot of my mechanic. At 200K miles, it was a single line of white smoke signaled our goodbye. Since then I’ve rebounded with Goldie, who is bigger, newer, and has all the bells and whistles (no more crank windows). She’s great, but hasn't quite captured my heart as Bessie once did. I donated Bessie to the Purple Heart, and she’d go on to be donated to a veteran in need.
Post-Katrina New Orleans is very different. While the outline and essence remain, some of our neighborhoods have given way to an alternate landscape. We cling to artifacts of yesteryear in an attempt to catch a glimpse of what was. There is definitely a shift happening in my life. For many reasons, selling Apricot St. was the right choice to make. When an asset turns into a liability, you must reassess and ultimately terminate what no longer serves you. Which puts me in a quandary. Apricot St. has served me for my entire life. It was the only home I’d known as a child and instilled the pride and belief in homeownership. Apricot St. is a living symbolism of family and neighboring. Apricot St. was once the prototype of what a neighborhood should be. It served as my footing in the city that I love. Thankfully, the weight of my tears did not hamper my reasoning. I had to say goodbye. The new owners were said to be on the extreme spectrum of excited, offering at the closing that they are now expecting their first child. I felt compelled to send them a welcome note, complete with well wishes for their future on Apricot. In the end, Monday was hard, but the right decision. Practicality, however, does not omit pain. I’ll be forever grateful to the few close friends I’d spoken to about the possibility early on for their reassurances. Forever grateful to my realtor, Stephanie, for her competent and compassionate handling of the sale. Forever grateful to both my tenant, Danielle and contractor, Greg, who treated and maintained Apricot St. as their on in my absence. Finally, forever grateful to my husband, who respected and honored my emotions throughout the process. Never losing sight of the emotional toll this would have, while being an informed stewart for our family. This doesn't feel right. It won’t for awhile. But transformative change rarely ever comes from a place of comfort. This level of discomfort gives me hope for a brighter future that I cannot begin to see. Time, in it’s fullness, will reveal the truth in the decisions made. My only hope is for the best for all. Onward.
Stephanie Campani
Dwell Realty
CELL: 504-908-9350 OFFICE: 504-301-2400
steph@dwellnola.com
www.dwellnola.com
Liscensed in Louisiana